


Not Built For Bread

by MediocreMemory



Series: Blades and Staves [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreMemory/pseuds/MediocreMemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris tries his hand at baking. Based off of <a href="http://vampy6667.deviantart.com/">Vampy6667</a>'s special Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Built For Bread

“Venhedis!” He shouted, dropping the hot pan to the ground and rubbed the hot gauntlets against his tunic. 

Baking was not a task he had been trained in and had never expected to be presented with such a chore. The most he had been tasked with was gutting fish and eating them unseasoned over a shoddy fire in his days before reaching Kirkwall. Since finding Garrett and his companions, those that bothered to call him more than an acquaintance- and in some cases, rival- tended to bring him small bits here and there when he didn't purchase it himself. But… for Garrett, it was worth the effort of learning. The skill may come in handy at a later date as well. 

He stared down at the pan and sighed- the crumbled confection littered the ground. It was a mess to clean and he was not partial to taking up chores. He had failed to keep the mansion clean for multiple reasons and his body protested to sweep up the current mess; it would just invite more rats. They had nibbled through every hunk of cheese in the place so far and with no jobs as of late with Garrett, his funds for restocking the cabinets were running thin. Besides, his coin was better spent on whetstones and polish in his mind.

He bent down, gripping the over-turned pan with a light touch and flung it up onto the nearby table with nominal effort. He grimaced, it would not do. Garrett had proven his value and a half destroyed platter of sweet bread would not be suitable. In a fit of anger, he slid his hand across the table- sending the dish once more to the ground- before gripping the back of his head. Handfuls of snow white hair as he growled to himself. He kicked it and screamed before dropping his hands to his side and turning his attention back to the stoked fire. If bread wouldn’t work, what would?

He pulled a drawer open and sifted through it. There were no recipes available and if there were, his reading was not comprehensive enough to understand more than half of what was written on the small cards. He pulled out an odd device with a flat yet spiked head and looked it over quizzically. ‘A mallet? Similar to a weapon?’ He dropped it into an open pouch of his belt, handle sticking from the top, and stepped back. After dumping the nearby bucket of sand onto the fire he stormed toward the door and out onto the Hightown streets. If he couldn’t make it, he could buy it… or steal it if his dwindling funds became an issue.

Fenris was oddly aware of the eyes that inspected him as he headed toward the Markets. After six years of being greeted with them he had thought he would grow accustomed to them but he was wrong. Head tilted down, he continued on his path, the mutters following him as he reached the nearest stall.

“Greeting, Messere!” An overly-chipper voice sounded to him. “What will you have today?” He looked up to realize it wasn’t the usual vendor here. He had grown accustomed to the balding man that operated it earlier in the week. Mondays and Tuesdays were the days he usual made the trip here and after a suddenly realization of what day it currently was hit him, Fenris turned his eyes to the creations before him. Breads of all kinds littered the small dusted display. Loafs, rolls, and sweets graced his eyes but of all of them only one stuck out. It was a small misshapen hunk with dark purple specks in it. He pointed towards it and the unknown merchant eyed him warily.

“Are you sure, messere? It’s not highly recommended.”

The elf nodded and with a shrug, the vendor lifted it to shove into a thin sack. After a quick tie with a cord, he asked for the three silvers. It was cheap- he had expected near ten but did not complain as he handed the coins over to the man. After receiving the bag and a half-smile from the vendor- more filled with confusion than gratefulness at the purchase of wares- he trumped off in the direction he had come. A sweet smell wafted from the sack in his hands… a familiar smell but he could not tell where he had caught it last.

The unmistakable shouting of Sandal echoed from the estate as he grew near it. Garrett was there, the dwarf only sounded so enthused when their champion was home. He found himself slowing his step to a halt and before he could gather his own thoughts, he was knocking on the wooden door. He admired the hammered brass details on it before Bodhan answered with his usual kind greetings.


End file.
